


Proxy

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Series: The Proxy series [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-20
Updated: 1999-09-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:15:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos isn't mine, Pierre is. Play nicely with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proxy

Methos picked up the phone and dialed it from memory. The phone rang three times before someone picked it up. "Are you alone?" he asked.

"Hello to you too."

"Are you?"

"What's the nom du jour?"

"Adam."

"Pierre."

"You alone, Pierre?"

"You want me to be, Adam?"

"Get rid of who ever he is. I'll be there in half an hour."

"Fuck you."

"I'm counting on it," Methos said, and hung up.

Pierre answered the door. The smell of the other man was rank on him, and he answered the door wearing nothing but sweatpants. The lazy smile on the man's face echoed the just-been-fucked hair-style. Methos went to ruffle it out of affection and Pierre slapped him, hard, across the face. Methos rubbed his chin.

"You bastard," Pierre purred.

"Still pissed about Byron?" Methos asked, rubbing his cheek.

Pierre stepped forward and gripped onto Methos' hair. "On your knees."

Methos went to shut the door, but the hand on his hair tightened. "I don't think you heard me right," he growled. "I said, on your knees."

Exhibitionism was never his thing, but Pierre wasn't one to be denied. Methos dropped to his knees and lowered the sweatpants.

The scent of sex hit him, and Pierre's pubic hair was still matted down with sweat. His cock was soft, and Methos turned his face away as the man ground against his cheek. Vindictively, Methos reached around the man's body and shoved two fingers inside. Pierre arched against him, already loose and lubed.

"Tell me what you want, Adam. Penance, permission, or practice?" he growled.

Methos accepting the cock between his lips and flicked the slit with his tongue. "I want you," he said.

"Bullshit," Pierre snapped, and walked away. He pulled up his pants. Methos closed the door behind them and threw the deadbolt. Pierre stalked off to the kitchen, and he slammed the cupboards until he found a bottle and glasses. He poured himself a tumbler full of scotch and offered Methos the bottle, but Methos shook his head. He didn't think he could drink single scotch again.

Pierre leaned against the counter. His body relaxed as he took his first sip, and he ran his fingers through his hair. The long fingers traveled down his long neck, over his chest with its light dusting of hair, and stopped on his nipple. Methos watched as his mouth went dry. Pierre pinched his nipple. "Come here."

Methos stripped off his jacket and let it fall behind him as he approached. Pierre shifted as he pulled himself onto the counter and lifted his hips for Methos to strip off his pants. Methos did so. He yanked them off, and he threw them back over his shoulder. Pierre spread his legs and brought one of his knees to his chest. Methos was momentarily distracted by the strong arch to Pierre's foot. He put his hand over it, masturbating the length of it. Pierre closed his eyes and brought his fingers to Methos' lips.

Methos parted them and sucked on the offered fingers. The musk of the other man, sex, semen...it all mingled on Pierre's skin, and he greedily tasted it all. Pierre's thumb curled up under his chin as he slowly worked his forefinger deeper into Methos' mouth. Methos pulled back, exposing his throat.

Pierre wiped his fingers off on Methos' cheek. Methos closed his eyes for the caress, and then blindly searched for Pierre's opening again, fucking him with his fingers. "Who is he?" Pierre asked.

"Who was he?" Methos countered.

"No one."

"Funny, mine too."

Pierre slapped him again. "Don't lie to me."

"Just a guy I know."

"Like all the others?" Pierre asked, taking Methos' chin in his hand. He led Methos up to him, delicately closing his teeth just away from Methos' skin. He never knew when he was going to feel tongue, lips, or teeth scraping against him. "Methos?"

"Like all the others," Methos agreed, heavily. Except for Byron. Byron was the last one that he couldn't resist. That he couldn't juxtapose onto Pierre and fuck by proxy. He had needed Byron, and gotten burnt. Pierre laughed, his hot breath on Methos' cheek, and kissed him chastely on the forehead.

"What if I tell you no, no more?" he asked, moving so the words were whispered in his ear.

Methos caught the man's wrist, kissing where the beat of his heart could be felt. "I'd kill you," he growled.

"Would you? Really?"

Methos kissed the wrist again. "In a heartbeat," he whispered.

Pierre pulled away. He put his foot on Methos' chest and pushed him back, stepping around him. Methos followed him back into the bedroom. "So, tell me who I am today," Pierre said as he stretched out on the bed. He propped himself up on one elbow. He reached for him, and Methos crawled along beside him, pulling off his shirt. Pierre slowly raked his nails down his back.

"You're big, strong," Methos began.

"Go on," Pierre whispered, as he ran a hand encouragingly over the red marks that slowly healed on Methos' back.

"Compassionate, passionate," Methos continued, parting his lips as Pierre started sucking on his nipple. The man's tongue was gentle and teasing one moment and then his teeth would break the surface. Methos hissed, but he pulled the man closer.

"Am I hung?" Pierre asked, teasingly.

"I wouldn't know," Methos said, and then gasped as Pierre found his navel. The man darted his tongue in and out but didn't try undoing the jeans.

When Methos tried to pull them down himself, Pierre caught his wrists. Methos let himself lose the struggle and lay back down to submit to it.

"So, tell me," Pierre said, slowly moving away from him. He knelt between Methos' parted thighs and placed both hands delicately over his thigh muscles.

"What?" Methos gasped. His jeans hurt him, and he almost sat up as Pierre moved down and nuzzled his cock through the material. It was playful and teasing, but Methos couldn't help shuddering as Pierre's nose bumped against him.

"Truth time. What do you find attractive about him?"

Methos forced himself to relax while his synaptic functions continued to insanely snap. "His..." His what? His sterling moral character? His devoutly followed code? No, Mac had been many things, just as he had.

"Well?" Pierre demanded, almost brutally. He yanked Methos' jeans off, "Or is it I'm hung like a horse and it's his kindness to animals that gets you off?"

Methos' muscles were as taut as wires. Pierre's tongue lashed out, catching him wetly down the veins of his cock. "Well?"

Methos' testicles tightened against him. "He likes me," Methos said, finally.

And Pierre's mouth was over him. The heat, the moisture overwhelmed him. He arched his back, crying out wordlessly and namelessly, and Pierre caught his seed.

He was asleep before he could fight it.

Pierre let him rest for a while before poking him. "You have to go."

Methos sat up, bleary. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. "What time is it?" he asked.

"Almost seven. Goodbye. Go back to Mr. He-likes-you."

"Pierre," Methos began.

"Don't tell me this is going to be the last time. Don't you dare. I'll still be here when this one loses his mystique like all the others. I'll still be here when you fall for the next one, too. I'll still be here, Adam."

"Promise me?" Methos asked.

Pierre caught his wrist. "I promise," he said.

Methos kissed him, letting Pierre run his fingers though his hair. "Get this cut. The wavy look does nothing for you."

Methos nodded. The next day he caught a plane, catching a taxi from the airport.

The building wasn't hard too find. He leaned against the doorframe and waited until the door opened.

"Candygram." Proxy II

Pierre came to play, and now he's demanding an entire series in his honour. Poor misguided soul. Obviously no one has told him what it is to be one of *my* muses. So, no one tell him otherwise until the time is right. Methos is not my toy, but Pierre is, so please. Put him back when you're done playing with him.

*********************

Pierre answered the door wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. Methos was momentarily distracted by the contrast of the slightly frayed material and the man's bare feet. Methos had never noticed how strong Pierre toes were.

"Hi, honey, how was your day? Chop off many heads?"

"Shut up," Methos snapped. He backed Pierre up against the wall.

"Make me."

Methos grabbed Pierre's face, hard enough to indent the skin. The veins crushed under his fingers. Bruises formed and healed before Methos let him go.

Pierre yanked back and tried to slap him, but this time Methos caught his wrist. "No."

"You owe me," Pierre snapped.

"Take it out in kind."

"I plan to."

"Bitch."

"Flatterer."

Methos hadn't let go of Pierre's hand. He tightened his grip on it and pulled Pierre closer to him. He brought his lips to Pierre's ear. "Be a good boy and blow me," Methos said instead of a kiss.

"What if I say no?" Pierre asked again.

"I'd kill you," Methos said, repeating their ritual.

Pierre dropped to his knees. Methos leaned against the wall and felt the chill creep through his clothes. Pierre dropped to Methos' jeans and ran his hands down Methos' thighs. Strong fingers strummed over Methos' ass, and they pressed against him.

Methos had to unclench his muscles. Pierre followed the harsh roughness with his silken tongue, but he made no effort to take Methos in his mouth. Hot, wet kisses covered Methos' length back to his belly and the first of the bites caught him on the fold of flesh above his thigh.

The inital pain threw him back against the wall and the second bite was closer to his testicles. It shocked him into action, but Pierre was already gone. Methos tried to follow, but forgot Pierre had only lowered his jeans, not removed them entirely.

Methos fell flat and hard. and then rolled onto his side. Only Pierre's hysterical laughter spurred him to kick off the jeans. He stood up and stalked Pierre through the small apartment. "You are going to pay for that," he said, ennunciating clearly.

"I fully intend to," Pierre said. Methos trapped him against the linen closet, and Methos pinned him there with his forearms. The innocent kiss Pierre placed on his forehead didn't disarm him.

"Um...oops?" Pierre tried.

Methos kissed Pierre's cheek and ran his tongue lavishly up to the bone to his ear. He caressed the lobe as he sucked on it for a moment before raking his teeth over it. The first time he flicked his tongue in his ear, Pierre moaned.

Methos rubbed his forehead against Pierre's. "How do you want it?" he asked. "On your knees or on your back?"

Pierre dropped down to his hands and knees, scrambling back to drop his own jeans. "Spit," Methos ordered.

Pierre struggled to provide enough spittle, knowing what it was going to be used for. Methos parted the man's cheeks roughly and ran his knuckle down from the small of Piere's back to the thick seam down the back of his scrotum. Pierre shuddered and then hissed as Methos reversed his motion, only this time he used his nail.

"What are you waiting for?" Pierre demanded.

"Beg."

"Adam, please. Fuck me, please. Please."

It didn't help. Even Pierre shifting his hips and rubbing against Methos didn't help Methos' erection. He reached down, using the spit to bring Pierre off. It was just manual motions, but Pierre thrust into his hand, desperately.

Pierre groaned as he came, and Methos left him on his hands and knees in the hall, and went to go wash his hands. When he got back, Pierre was in bed.

Methos stretched out beside him, putting a hand on the valley between Pierre's hip and his ribcage. "You're with him right now, aren't you?" Pierre asked.

"No," Methos said, stroking down Pierre's back. Pierre went stiff under his fingers.

"Don't tell me this happens to everyone once and a while. Adam--"

"Pierre, you know how very fond I am of you," he said, quietly.

Pierre pushed the hand off his hip, but he obviously knew that was all Methos could give him. "Are you jealous?" Methos asked.

"Of your flavour of the week? I don't think so."

Methos nuzzled his hair. "You'll always be my little slave boy."

"And we'll always have Paris. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"You are jealous."

"No shit, Sherlock!"

Pierre turned to him, making the nuzzle a kiss. Methos bit along the man's lips and dropped kisses along his nose. "You're not fooling me," Pierre said, and turned away. "I think you had better leave."

"Pierre--"

"No, Adam. I don't think you being here is a good idea." Methos pushed away, getting out of the bed. "You knew what this was based on," he said, lowering his voice.

"And I'm asking you to leave. Get out. Go back to Mr. Wonderful."*

Methos grabbed Pierre, hauling him out of bed. He threw him against the wall, following him a second later, kissing him hard. Pierre fought him for less than a heartbeat, and then submitted to the kiss as he pushed back against him. They fought, but Methos managed to grip onto Pierre's curls to hold him in place. Pierre kissed him and then bit him vindictively on the cheek before reaching down to cup him.

Methos pulled away, but not before Pierre felt the complete lack of response. "Good-bye," Methos said and drew a line down Pierre's face.

Pierre didn't show him to the door.

End


End file.
